


An Evening In

by ATimeladyOfLetters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deanie weenie is sickie wickie, Grad Student Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Just ask Cas, M/M, Sick Dean Winchester, Sleep fixes most things, Writer Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATimeladyOfLetters/pseuds/ATimeladyOfLetters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is sick and Cas is sick of him being sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evening In

**Author's Note:**

> The credit for the idea behind this fic goes to a beautiful piece of art created by Tumblr user preservedcucumbers. The art work for that inspired this fic can be found at preservedcucumbers.tumblrpost/19279749896
> 
> Also, I would really love to hear some feedback and reviews are my everything so if you can, please do take a minute and leave a review :D
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy the story!!

"Cas. I’m telling you. You don’t need to do this."

"One day, Dean, we’ll both believe everything that comes out of your mouth. Not today, though." Cas sighed, trying (and failing) to sound chirpy. 

They were both tired. Cas, because of his upcoming exams, especially theTheology course and Dean, because of the two jobs he worked and the book he was trying to write on the side. Their lives had suddenly become boring. It became all about course work and jobs, and they’d barely spent a day together for the last two weeks. The weather was terrible too. If it wasn’t drizzling, it was pouring, and if there wasn’t cold biting wind, there was hail. And thunder. Thunder every night. With the weather being so miserable, Cas wondered why he hadn't anticipated one of them getting sick.

Well, Dean wouldn’t outright say he was sick. He’d use ‘under the weather’, ‘not so hot’, any number of phrases really. Anything but 'sick'. He hated being sick. Cas hated that he was sick. So one evening, having realized that Dean’s head cold wasn’t going to cure itself in a hurry what with him refusing to take a day off, he went over to Dean's apartment with some soup.

"Yeah, whatever." Dean sniffed from the couch, walking to the kitchen to get something to eat.

Pouring the soup into a saucepan, Cas smirked.

"Why don’t I heat some soup up while you go settle your posterior on the couch?" he said. It was more of an order than a suggestion, really. Placing his hands on Dean’s shoulders, he spun him around and marched him out of the kitchen. Sounds of vague muttering receded from the kitchen, and Dean, presumably, lay back on the couch.

Turning back to the kitchen counter, Cas put the saucepan on the stove, waiting for it to heat up. Remembering all too grumpily that they wouldn’t have too much time for each other in the following days, he asked conversationally, “So what is going to happen to Kevin now? Are you past your writer’s block?”

Not hearing a reply for a good two minutes, Cas popped his head out of the kitchen to find Dean on the couch gently snoring, his form outlined by the occasional flashes of thunder in the otherwise dim room.  
Which was good. His body had needed rest for a while now, and if he wasn’t going to take it soon, Cas had seriously been considering physically knocking him out.

Smiling, he silently padded back to the ancient gas stove and turned it off. He figured soup could wait, and retraced Dean’s steps to the couch. He was aching to kiss him, but then he’d end up sick, and Dean would end up wide awake, so instead, he settled for pressing his lips against Dean’s dry, sightly hot forehead. 

Dean smiled faintly, scooting down the couch to let Cas sit behind him. He lay his head on his lap, swinging an arm over Cas’ shoulder, and Cas  began carding through Dean’s short hair. He needed rest too, he realized, as he listened to Dean’s steady breath, feeling the rise and fall of his shoulders from were his fingers were kneading the two week old stress knots away.

Sighing contentedly, he thought 'We both do...' and slowly began drifting away.


End file.
